On youth's restless green puff
I rode a greyhound bus southbound.
Everything I owned stuffed into one duffel bag.
Forty eight hours on highway x.
It was getting dark so I settled for the first dive I could find.
One room with peeling pink walls
a large painting of a red heart against black
somebody pretending to be Peter Max.
The next night-I popped into "Geno's bar", to watch a football game.
There was a handful of locals-nobody spoke.
I could see cock roaches racing over the hotdogs.
I was young and beyond hungry but settled for the vending machine.
As Geno would reach for a hotdog, the roaches would scurry off.
By the time the dogs reached the counter they were hot, glistening
and roach free.
Old Geno just smiled as he handed them their roach dogs.
Then quickly took their money.
It was our dirty little secret, after all I was the new guy and didn't want to cause a stir and bug bomb his patrons.
Geno handed me a free beer just before halftime,
I guzzled it down and left him to his roaches soon after.
keep the music sorrowfully low,
so big daddy doesn’t hear.
the shadowy figures, surrender
and whisper in your ear.
the psychedelic colors flow
like the sea foam beat.
Angie, your chromatic hair
smells incandescently sweet.
locked and loaded, alone
with your beastie dreams.
your pillow’s soft and it leans -
your coming apart “at the seams”
one boy plays peek-a-boo, sniffing
your honeysuckles suspended.
tickled by your goldilock curls,
not realizing all it portended.
like walking into the deep dark wood,
he creeps hand and foot, eyes first
like a prowling tiger, tail wagging,
with a rattling tongue a-thirst.
Angie, swooshes her fingers
through his hair, hushes him.
...he stares at the ceiling stars
...loud music descends on his limbs.
Angie digs her embryonic duffel bag,
smiles and adds his decomposing bones
to the ashes of her huge imagination
and recalls that in this world, she’s all alone.
5/8/2019
Musical Inspiration Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May
Song choice: Angie, Baby by Helen Reddy
A man of unquestioned probity in his community, stumbles upon
A hidden duffel bag in the woods while camping with his family
He pulls it out of the dirt and zips it open. The duffel bag
Is stuffed with $100 bills. He turns in the money, in full
To the authorities the next day. His honest deed earns him
Considerable, much-deserved kudos in the press. Unfortunately
He also gets the attention of an unscrupulous stranger, anonymously
Demanding "every last penny of my money back, or I'll...
Continue to make life a living hell for you and your family..."
A ruthless demand
Stranger wants his pound of flesh
Tough predicament
Date written and posted: 04/18/2019
Each day, she wallows in unspeakable despair
Her hunger is unslakable
There's misery in her downcast eyes
Poor woman, a have-not in the world of haves
She's a beggar and dumpster diver
Her appearance weather-beaten and unkempt
Her hand-held sign speaks more than she does
All that she has is stuffed into
her medium duffel bag
"Where will she sleep tonight?," I wonder. Where?
I sure hope and pray it's under a roof
Dear God, please keep her safe and sound!
CONTEST 555,ANY FORM OR NONE,ANY THEME,UP TO A MAX OF 20 LINES
Sponsored by Brian Strand (Winner: 1st Place)
Date written and posted: 02/06/2019
A young man carrying a green duffel bag
over his shoulder shifts when he walks.
Off to war for our country and flag.
No military knowledge with little talk.
Enemy troops marched across the bridge,
with tanks, and hundreds of machine guns led.
As he sat dug in along and across the ridge,
bullets were zipping right over his head.
The dawn of the morning across the glen;
a plan was thought, bargain it was, the loss
of two companies to stop a million men
and ten thousand vehicles from getting across
Pop, pop pop, of distant sounds and then more,
trading volleys of gunfire with blood and gore
A friend gets killed and he dies to the core,
trembling with raging fire. A Casualty of war
5/24/2017
As I laced up my tennis shoes
I hurried to meet up with you
and ran to find you getting off the bus
And when I saw you standing there
in uniform so debonair
I was hoping everyone would notice us
As you picked up your duffel bag
we walked, and you took off your cap
and put it on my forehead just for fun
And as my curiosity
began to get the best of me
I asked you if you’d ever shot a gun
My mother said that you’d been gone
you’d gone to fight in Vietnam
I couldn’t have been no more than nine or ten
With pride I walked right next to you
And wondered if you felt it too
Or would you feel anything again?
Have you seen Ms.Cynthia Morris' moose
Who has eaten Ms. Kim Patricia’s goose?
She laid a golden egg
In my red duffel bag
While I was running for the loo bowels loose
(Nonsense/Limerick)
Anna fell in love with a Pterodactyl
They pecked and petted in a reflex tactile
She laid a big egg
In my duffel bag
And I found my grandson in a projectile
Memories Mirrored
by Odin Roark
A Boy Scout essential
The polished metal card mirror
The unbreakable monitor
Made to master Morse code
Used to measure wanna-be whiskers
And such
So it went
From puberty to manhood
Hall locker
To gym locker
Toiletry bag
To duffel bag
Afghan's mountain-dead
To triage hospital bed
Wrapped eyes needed little
Of the metal card mirror now
As blindness tearfully engaged
The enslavement of memory
An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
An AR16 rifle in my hands….
Seemed like such a paradox,
In the paddies and jungles of Vietnam.
An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
A man’s life was in my hands….
That life was not only mine,
While trying to survive in Vietnam.
An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
Hoping for guidance by God’s hand….
Ignore our sin, keep us alive and safe,
While fighting in Vietnam.
An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
My duffel bag in my hand….
After 13 months, I was going home,
No more to fight in Vietnam.
An amulet of peace hung ‘round my neck,
An Honorable Discharge in my hand….
Only to be spat upon, called ‘baby killer’,
By ‘peaceniks’ against the war in Vietnam.
An amulet of peace no longer hung ‘round my neck,
The challenge of a new life was at hand….
Found love, happiness and some success,
And tried not to think of Vietnam.
Again, that same amulet of peace hangs ‘round my neck;
And I hope my friends all understand….
I want our courageous young men and women
Out of Iraq and Afghanistan.
our Jeeps pulled into hanger four as we saluted our first Sgt my thoughts were racing again as home became a vivid battle zone of raw emotions several caskets lined the entrance way inside of the chanook bravely I'd placed flags on each one clutching my dogtags trying to remember my name it could have very well been Col Sgt or perhaps private Kennedy I focused solely on the name tags of the fallen my mind settled into an untimely grief where I'd forgotten my duffel bag behind leaning against a stone walk way inside carrying a pasttime of glory forgotten was my mind mingling about sorted nerves of steel that shattered apon take off over high calm waters as I noticed a sea of dark tears I bottled them for souvenirs
A cab driver's day can be partly sorrow, partly glee.
Just always be on your toes, you won't get a bloody nose.
Backseat lovebirds snuggle and softly coo to each other.
The next minute, they quarrel, they snarl and try some murder.
A celestial chick hops in and stuns you with a cute wink.
A magnum in your rib, you lose your day's pay in a blink.
A crazed husband grabs you, so you zoom after a chopper
for his wife's pilot lover, leaps out your door, game over.
Bank robbers punch, kick you out and roar away in your cab.
In panic, leave you tons of dollars in a duffel bag!
.
The full moon glistens on the fallen snow;
He still has a couple of miles left to go,
As he walks on home from the bus depot;
Of his visit there nobody yet knows.
His deployment in Iraq has come to an end;
The Purple Heart hangs on his chest;
Of his shortened tour he told no family or friends;
His left sleeve is pinned to his vest.
The Greyhound bus that dropped him off,
Passes him rolling down the road;
The shrapnel he carries in a chewing tobacco tin,
As he marches along in the dark and the cold.
The long driveway to the house he grew up in,
Has not been shoveled of the snow;
The lights are still on, as everyone within,
Prepares for a midnight mass to go.
They are startled by noises out on the porch,
And wonder at the knock on the door;
They all rush in to see who it is,
As he drops his duffel bag upon the floor.
A one-armed hug isn’t so bad,
On the Eve before a Christmas Day;
When received by a hero son
Who’s been missed ever since he went away.
They all went to church with tears in their eyes;
One family of thousands of more;
Overjoyed by a wonderful Christmas surprise -
A soldier coming home from the war.
Wrap me up in rainbows
Compact and stuff me in your duffel bag
Travel with me to parts unknown
Scale mountain peaks and valleys
When you’ve reached the summit
Insert your flag of wisdom
And proclaim the new found “wonder”
Show me beauties, unroll me downhill
Sail down in the redness of love
Without fear of carpet burns
Do that, then join my side
Place warmth of trusting hands
and bleeding hearts firmly into mine
Into minds
We’ll climb the stairway back up to heaven
Together as one…